God of law, whose mighty form
Rears the mountain, sways the storm,
Bowed beneath Thy just decree,
Whither shall I turn from Thee?
I will turn, O Crucified,
To the refuge of Thy side.
From my sins that bleed and burn,
To Thy bleeding cross I turn.
I have tested human skill,
Human love and human will,
All devices of the brain,
Reason, honor—all are vain.
From my self with all its woes,
Shameful prey of shameful foes,
Lo. I turn—how eagerly!—
Christ, my better self, to Thee.
Field and forest, sea and air,—
All the earth is very fair.
Keen ambition's crafty art
Binds the world upon my heart.
But in Thee, O Christ! I find
All ennoblings of the mind;
Fount of all for which I yearn,
Christ, O Christ, to Thee I turn.